


All that glitters is not gold

by quixgobrrr



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Dimension Travel, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Marshall Carter & Dark Ltd, Mention of suicide attempts, Mentions of XK Class Event, Not Canon Compliant, Parallel Universes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 02:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixgobrrr/pseuds/quixgobrrr
Summary: Iris Dark knows that money is everything. Her well-oiled software manipulates stock exchanges and markets in such a way that she can earn several trillion dollars in just a few seconds. Iris Dark needn't worry - after all, you can buy anyone; and a solution to any problem can also be bought. If only she herself believed it... Iris Dark closes her eyes, waiting for the return of old nightmares. IrisThompsonmourns the world that died through her fault.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	All that glitters is not gold

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [All that glitters is not gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663787) by [Maxim98rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxim98rus/pseuds/Maxim98rus). 



Heavy thunderclouds hanging over London resembled an executioner who raised his gigantic ax over the city; somewhere on the horizon rumbled- a thunderstorm was clearly approaching. The air was penetratingly cold and, at the same time, stuffy, motionless, tension was felt in it, as if a tightly stretched spring was about to burst. In the grayish haze, a slightly lighter line stood out to the Thames bed, near which one could see the faint silhouettes of Big Ben and the buildings of the British Parliament.

_Everything is the same as at her house._

Iris Dark sat silently in her armchair, wrapped in a blanket, and with an expressionless gaze looked out of the wide window, framed by heavy velvet curtains of a dark purple color. Somewhere nearby, a fire blazed brightly in a large marble fireplace, and the robotic servant from Anderson Robotics made sure to throw the logs into the flame in time, preventing it from going out. Only the crackling of logs, spitting out bright golden sparks into the space of the room, and the measured breathing of Ms. Dark, broke the reigning silence. Iris didn't want anything, and it was a rare, very rare moment in her life when she could really afford exactly what she really wanted. In the end, such an opportunity fell out to her infrequently and was unlikely to last long, so one of the Three Great Lords preferred to use it every time an opportunity turned up.

Several melodious beeps came from a laptop on a small mahogany table, but Iris ignored them. Later. She will still have time. An advanced program with built-in artificial intelligence and with it will divide all incoming proposals into important, unimportant and those that are intended for her personally, and without any problems will independently cope with the first two. This is what she learned from the very moment she was here- in a place that was so similar to her own world that she sometimes wanted to just take and scream, at the top of her lungs- scream, scream and scream while she will not lose her voice.

_It would have been easier to just die._

“Mistress Dark,” a soft, velvety voice with no signs of gender or age was heard nearby. Glancing to the side with faded blue eyes, Iris saw a robot servant standing modestly next to a tray, holding a cup of hot cocoa smoking.

"Thank you," Dark nodded to the robot, more out of habit than really thanks, "Free."

“Madam,” the robot bowed and briskly left the room.

Iris took a sip. The cocoa was good- the right temperature, moderately sweet, with a tart chocolate flavor. In a world, she had nothing to complain about, everything was exactly the way she loved. This, perhaps, was the most annoying of all. For a split second, she felt the urge to just toss that damn cup on the floor, watching the expensive porcelain split to pieces, how the fibers of the thick carpet absorb the hot liquid. All the same, at one word from her, all the fragments will be collected, and the carpet will be cleaned to perfect condition, or even replaced with a similar one (and maybe even better). When you can earn as much in a second as the United States government gets in a year, this isn't a problem for you.

But it was superfluous, completely superfluous.

It was getting noticeably darker outside the window. The wind intensified, lightning flashed among the clouds more and more often. Thunderous rumblings approached quickly and swiftly, like a predator pursuing prey, and soon the first large drops hit the glass. Iris looked at them with a mixture of indifference and some incomprehensible despair. She remembered how she felt when she first found herself in the rain after getting here. Then she laughed. She cried. She screamed. She put her face under the jets of water falling from the sky, rolling her eyes in bliss, as if she herself did not fully understand what she was feeling at all. It was probably just nostalgia. After all, when was the last time she saw normal rain...?

_Normal... Just water falling from the sky. Not those drops of black, pungent mucus that caused aging, decay, destruction and decay of everything that was touched. Not the blood-red water that liquefied living organisms, like fire- a candle, turning them into shapeless masses of flesh, merging with each other and desperately trying to pull themselves together. Or shards of glass or drops of molten metal falling as rain. Or seemingly ordinary water... that turned all living things, who dared to drink it, into water._

The pale hand, whose ring finger was adorned with a platinum ring set with a blue diamond, clenched, gripping the soft upholstery of the chair; Iris Dark tensed, her breathing became uneven, nervous, anxious. However, the lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the room with a bright flash, and the clap of thunder that followed, brought the woman to her senses- she relaxed, leaned back in her chair and took a decent sip from the cup. Such attacks were not uncommon for her- given what she had to witness, many would say that she got off easy. And yet, it was a serious distraction from work. However, at the disposal of Mrs. Dark there were ways (which it was better for mere mortals not to know) to get rid of these unpleasant symptoms, but she only postponed their application, and denied it.

And, probably, she never intended to use it. Because in a sense, Iris wanted to remember all this- either to remind herself why she was doing what she was doing at all, or in order to whip up the feeling of guilt that was slowly consuming her from within, deaf to any excuse and forgiveness.

After finishing her cocoa, Iris put the empty cup on the table next to the laptop. She did not want to read the message- she specifically tuned the signals so that various sounds would notify her about things directly affecting her, and about all others. And the melody that signaled to her, sounded a few minutes ago, clearly indicated that nothing critical was planned to happen. Most likely, a message from some second-rate branch somewhere on the outskirts of the country- in the UK, Marshall, Carter and Dark, Limited owned not many assets; most of the property was located in the United States, but then Skitter would have taken care of this problem, and no one would have written messages to her.

A second signal sounded, different from the previous one, and Iris Dark perked up unusually. She straightened in her chair, her gaze instantly became chilling and focused, and her voice spoke imperiously into the void:

"Give me a laptop. Alive."

The robot servant was instantly distracted from its observation of the fireplace and immediately appeared next to the mistress, handing an electronic device into her hands. Placing the laptop on her lap, Iris opened the lid and typed in several combinations of letters and numbers, entering the operating system and gaining access to data that an outsider would not have guessed, if this laptop fell into their hands. Ms. Dark spent some time assessing the current level of profit of the UK branch of MC&D (the results were more than satisfactory), and assessed the state of the world's largest stock exchanges, after which she moved to the corporate mail section. Iris ignored most of the messages regarding various transactions with the extremely extensive partners of the club (including in the anomalous community) - the AI figured it out without her help; in addition, even their organization had its own managers and intermediaries, so that all unimportant matters could be shoved onto them.

Ms. Dark quickly found a message addressed to her and marked by the intellectual program as a letter of "special importance." However, she first of all decided to read another- the one that came first. It read as follows:

_**Incident Report #57** _

_**TB2X2 / NOP5R / 734WF** _

_**Compiled by** : Robert Shackleford, MC&D Security_

_**Date** : 09.06.2014_

_4NASB / TQR38 / W57K6 couriers were attacked by Serpent's Hand operatives near West Oakland, County Durham, England, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. In the ensuing clash, Marshall, Carter and Dark, Limited CJSC suffered the following losses:_

_• Five (5) MC &D SecOps security personnel killed_

_• Damage to two (2) vehicles totaling £123,500 ($152,400);_

_• Financial losses incurred due to delays in delivering goods to the customer in the amount of £872,757 ($1,076,982);_

_• Insurance costs for the injured twenty-five (25) SecOps MC &D security personnel totaling £4,898,216 ($6,044,399);_

_• Incident concealment costs totaling £1,127,582 ($1,391,436);_

_• Other expenses totaling £5,738,039 ($7,080,741)._

_Total loss: £1,276,094 ($15,745,958)._

_The Serpent's Hand lost three (3) operatives in the incident, with another six (6) injured using anomalous abilities to flee the scene._

_**To Ms. Iris Dark, shareholder.**_

****

****

**_Marshall, Carter and Dark, Limited_**

It was a completely ordinary message about an "incident"- a small hitch in the delivery of goods to the customer. Not only was it not a nuisance; this case could not even be called an annoying hindrance. Such incidents harmed the MC&D as much as the crumpled lumps of paper thrown from the wind pipes by some schoolboy bully do harm. The fifteen hundred million dollars in damage were not just pennies- dust underfoot, which melted before our eyes in comparison with the profits received by the club members every day. The program, created by Iris, received millions of such reports almost hourly- and dealt with them without the help of the Great Lady. But this case was different- and the whole point is in a small line at the very end of the report, which was not even connected with losses. Iris Dark did not care about the money spent- the gaze of almost colorless eyes glared at this short message, which was much more important to her than some millions.

_The Serpent's Hand lost three (3) operatives in the incident, with another six (6) injured using anomalous abilities to flee the scene._

The woman tensed again; the back straightened, pale, well-groomed hands digging into the lacquered mahogany of the countertop. Her breathing became heavy, uneven and even somehow fierce, lips compressed into a thin strip, and eyes continuously ran from one letter to another- not just with satisfaction, but as if with some kind of sadistic pleasure. Because it was not the "Manna" nasty on trifles, not the Coalition or the Foundation that always arrange squabbles, not MEKHANE fanatics or Sarkicists who went on carnal perversions, or many other small and not very groups that made up an anomalous community and were engaged in interfering with MC&D- and to each other- calmly go about their business.

It was the Serpent's Hand.

_Three more assholes were dead- much to her delight. The only thing that was upsetting was that it was not enough. Fifteen would have made her smile much more sincerely._

Probably the only serious enemy of MC&D. Fanatics who lived in some anomalous place, where no one but them could get, and who proclaimed themselves either as “liberators” of “oppressed” anomalous creatures, or as “crusaders” of everything anomalous as such; their leader ~~was an absolute bastard~~ was unknown, and therefore even the analysts of Marshall, Carter and Dark, Limited sometimes found it difficult to understand what they generally need at any given moment.

_They were killers; ruthless, fanatical and bloody - like the fucking Grindelwald from "Harry Potter". "Down with the Statute of Secrecy!" and stuff like that. And do not care if for this the Earth drowns in blood and tears. They will only cowardly lock themselves in their Library and rejoice at how another world has found freedom, leaving behind mountains of wounded bodies, beating in dying convulsions, and smiling with bloody lips._

Not that the Serpent's Hand cared so much to Iris Dark.

MC&D devoted its precious attention to only two categories of people (or non-people, depending on the situation): those who were beneficial to the club, and those who interfered with it. Before all the others, there was nothing to do with either Ms. Dark herself, or other Great Lords, or anyone else from the shareholders of MC&D. And if the Serpent's Hand belonged to this category, Iris would absolutely not care if they were fanatics or not, how many people they killed and how much chaos their actions could cause. “Live and let live” was the motto of Marshall, Carter and Dark, LTD, a closed joint stock company. But, unfortunately, non-interference was apparently something that the Serpent's Hand rejected purely out of principle. And this turned them into a serious problem, not only bringing losses to the club, but also threatening the long-term plans of MC&D. Therefore, Ms. Dark was forced to spend huge amounts of money (and bear unrequited expenses!) Solely so that the "anarchists of the anomalous community” would not cause the club even more expenses.

_In fact, she just wished that they would all die in agony. She would even watch it._

_But now was not the time for such thoughts._

And time is money, as the well-known proverb says.

Therefore, Iris decided to postpone the gloating until a more opportune moment. Moreover, another message was waiting for her, intended this time, especially for her- although the thought that the Serpent's Hand had become three people less still warmed her soul. The second message turned out to be much larger in volume; the program with artificial intelligence instantly identified it in the category of "view in person", carrying out only a standard check for the presence of cognitive and memetic threats (which checked all incoming mail - fortunately, Ms. Dark had an unpleasant experience of consequences). Finally, opening the second letter, Iris deepened her reading.

_**Note No. 342** _

_**Y 5LPX / KM8X3 / 3BTXI** _

_**Sender** : Finley Carpenter, Marshall Carter Party_

_**Beneficiary** : Ms. Iris Dark, MC&D shareholder_

_Ms. Dark,_

_You are probably aware of the tragic events that took place at Happy Acres Children's Camp, part of the MC &D Diamond Mountain Resort near Wyoming. Although under the club's charter, any activity of Marshall, Carter & Dark, Limited in the United States is within the purview of MC&D._

_On 06/08/2014, an unknown virus outbreak occurred at Happy Acres Children's Camp, which is codenamed SCP-008 at the SCP Foundation. Since MC &D security did not have sufficient resources and authority to take any action against clients, the Marshall and Carter Celebrations were forced to contact the management of the Foundation through official channels and request assistance. Within a day, the forces of the Organization carried out a large-scale special operation, as a result of which the virus was contained. Unfortunately, all clients who were in the camp were infected beyond treatment (see Incident Report #71 for a list of related costs)._

_According to your request, we inform you personally about the activation of the operation of the following persons of interest:_

_• Andrea S. Adam, Senior Special Agent, SCP Foundation;_

_• Iris Thompson, SCP Foundation, Field Observer (presumably)._

_**Marshall, Carter and Dark, Limited** _

Iris froze like a statue- she didn't even seem to breathe. Her gaze froze as she read the dry lines of the memo. Ms. Dark did not know how to relate to what she had just learned- at the moment she wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and at the same time scream in horror; the second, rather, wanted more. Calming down with great difficulty, Iris gradually began to process the information she received. On one hand, what was she hoping for? That Thompson would be locked up in a cell forever and not pulled out until she died? In fact, this option would suit Ms. Dark the most. But no, they not only pulled her out into the light of God, but also threw her into the very heat, just ~~like she herself then~~. And the worst part was that everything happened too quickly- she didn't even have time to really prepare, although the MC&D resources were in much better condition than she could have hoped.

The question was different - what should she do now?

_The Thompson assassination was the most tempting option; The despair that devoured Ms. Dark literally screamed about the need for this step. Whitish, barely noticeable scars on the wrists, usually well hidden by foundation and long sleeves of a silk blouse, spoke about this._

This, however, was stupid- Iris Dark did not want to let the Foundation know how well she knew about its plans, and the murder of one of the best field agents of the Foundation, who was also one of the SCPs, would have betrayed her instantly. Moreover, the Overseers could consider MC&D a serious threat to themselves and start playing against the club, and this would completely destroy the long-term plans of the Great Lady herself. No, something else was needed. After all, while Ms. Dark hated Iris Thompson with all her soul, she was not the only potential target of MC&D. Because there was still the Serpent's Hand, with which the Great Lady stubbornly could not cope by any means, despite many various attempts.

_They then told her that the Foundation is a prison. That they only want peace and freedom for all people, including others like her. That keeping people in cages just because they can do something that others cannot and do not understand is unfair and monstrous. Then she believed them. Now she would just put her necks around them all. And Thompson's too._

The idea of discussing the situation with her colleagues (although the word "accomplices" would suit them better) came next, and Iris was not happy with her. The "Great Trinity" respected the interests of the companions enough not to interfere with each other's activities- only any events of an extraordinary scale would serve as sufficient reason for the three most powerful people on Earth to come together. Nevertheless, Mrs. Dark did not want to get involved with such an organization as the Foundation alone, ~~because she knew much better than Marshall and Carter what it was capable of.~~ On the other hand, although Skitter and Robert were the co-founders of MC&D, none of them gave any guarantees that they would not play against each other (although the prudence of the "Great Trinity" allowed none of them to cross the line). So Iris Dark did not want to reveal once again what trump cards she had in her hands.

_And she knew a lot. Probably, if she was still in the Organization, in the amount of classified information that was known to her, only the Overseers could match her. On her side was invaluable experience and accurate knowledge about events that had not even happened yet, and if she is right (and she, judging by the results of numerous observations and analyzes, is almost certainly right) and this world is almost no different from the one from which she came... this knowledge was truly invaluable. She was aware not only of the Foundation's plans, but also of the Serpent's Hand, and MC &D, and many others. The only unknown variable in this equation is how they all behave after she intervenes?_

There are too many unknowns, too many blank spots. There are too many things that can go wrong. The whole plan was risky from the start, and Ms. Dark knew it. However, she also understood something else- there were simply no other options. She has lived in this world for several hundred years, watching world history sweep past her; these long, hard, full of work and sweat, years were enough to rise from an unknown street photographer to one of the gentlemen of the largest financial organization in the world. And it doesn't matter that for this she had to trade information, body and thoughts, she had to steal, betray, kill, play dirty and make bloody sacrifices in order to prolong her own life; compared to what happened in her world, everything she experienced here seemed a mere trifle.

Ms. Dark didn't care. If what the Foundation taught her was that sacrifice is sometimes worthwhile for the common good. Even if this act Iris ~~Thompson~~ would call a sin.

_She was holding a young girl by the rapidly growing cold hand— pale, with damp, matted hair; an unfortunate baby who was tormented by the Foundation for humanity in hundreds of cruel ways for the common good. Her womb was torn to shreds, and her white hospital gown was almost completely soaked in blood._

_“I'm sorry…” she wheezed as the tears rolling from her eyes mixed with the blood-red stream flowing from her mouth, “I killed you… I killed you all…"_

_Iris, silently sobbing, only shook her head desperately, clutching her fragile, exhausted body, which hardly had more than a few seconds to live._

_"It's not your fault... It's all me... It's all my fault... I brought them here..."_

_The blue eyes met the brown ones- and after a moment the gaze of the brown eyes faded, became glazed and motionless. The pale hand that reached out to Iris's face went limp, and soon the girl's body lay in the woman's arms, lifeless. Now she understood- now she saw with her own eyes what she had done. And above, through broken concrete and stone, the sky burned in a hellish flame, through which black, wriggling tentacles slowly stretched- and hordes of alien creatures that could not have dreamed even in the darkest nightmares..._

As if she had made some decision, Iris Dark pulled the laptop closer to her and quickly began typing messages- one after another, as quickly as if that was what she had been doing all her life; short, laconic phrases that should have reached the right people in a second and set into motion the secret threads of the huge network that the ubiquitous club weaved around the whole world. Ms. Dark was not going to rush off the bat. She may have hated waiting, but the past has taught her that sometimes hasty action can ruin even a carefully thought-out plan. And then all of humanity.

For a moment, Iris's fingers froze over the keyboard, as if she were thinking about something, and then began to quickly, quickly knock on the keys with even greater fury. When she finally finished sending instructions, the woman closed the lid of the laptop, then, standing up and throwing a strand of blond, almost white hair from her face, straightened her shawl over her shoulders and went to the window. Outside the mansion, the storm continued to rage- the surrounding world seemed to dissolve in a continuous stream of rain, the jets of which ran down the glass and made it impossible to see at least something. The gloom hanging over the city receded only for short moments, when a sparkling branch of lightning tore the sky to pieces, then burst into a violent thunderclap. A person who finds himself in such weather somewhere in a forest- or even better in a steppe or a field- would certainly be frightened by this overwhelming power of the elements, experiencing a rare moment of feeling his own insignificance, absolute powerlessness in front of the indomitable force of nature. However, for Iris it was just a thunderstorm- strong and dangerous, but quite ordinary.

Looking down, the woman took from a small pocket of a glossy crocodile leather handbag, which was slung over her shoulder, a small photograph taken, apparently, on an ancient Polaroid camera. It depicted a rather low-quality photo of a suburb of some large metropolis- in the distance, almost merging with the blue sky, skyscrapers towered, and in the foreground, sparkling in the sunlight, cars glittered, trees rustled with green foliage, children played on the nearest playground, and a boy, bursting with laughter, was flying a multi-colored kite into the air. Iris understood that she was not obliged to do this, that nothing good would come of this venture- it never did. And yet, it was her duty. A reminder of her worst mistake she has ever made or could have made in her life- which she could not prevent then and which she desperately sought to prevent now.

Thompson would say it was her cross; and she would have agreed with her, if faith had not died out in her a long time ago.

Thin pale fingers touched the photograph, and the flowery image became cloudy, as if the eyes of Ms. Dark, who were staring at it, were suddenly fogged up. The colors gradually faded, the contours blurred, and the background darkened alarmingly quickly. And when everything was finally over, the photograph seemed to have turned into a small window through which the world was seen- completely different from what was recently depicted in the photograph. The blueness of the sky disappeared without a trace; now everywhere a yellowish-green, thick fog swirled around, creeping in heavy clouds over the surface and accumulating in many kilometers of clouds. In this suffocating haze, one could barely see what had once been what could be mistaken for the remains of a city. It was impossible to distinguish houses- they'd turned into something that looked like an ugly mixture of a living organism and an artificial structure. There was flesh woven into stone, and through and through rusted iron, turning into a bone skeleton. There were towers of what looked like thick, continuously contracting intestines, dotted with many tentacles and tendrils. There was soil, quivering like living flesh- and teeth-toothed mouths opening right in the ground.

_That world perished - perished irrevocably, in torment, without any hope of salvation; some of the people had time to scream. For others, death would be a mercy compared to the fate that befell them. And she was to blame for this- she, with her decency, her sympathy for the sufferings of the innocent, which they so cruelly took advantage of. She remembered the endless vaults of the Library, remembered the faces of many people who kindly addressed her- who treated her as a free person, and not a criminal who had to sit in a cage until the end of her days. She believed them- and in the end she was left alone, in dirt and dust, with the body of an unfortunate girl frozen forever in her arms, watching the heavens blaze, how meter by meter disappears the world so dear to her heart, in which she was born, and which so stupid- and so cruel- lay ruined._

Creatures floated in the poisonous smoke- something like an eel, but consisting of many human hands and eyes; something that resembled an ever-changing geometric figure surrounded by thick black smoke. Something that resembles a stirring organic mass with many tendrils topped with chitinous proboscis with several wriggling tongues. And much more and much more. Iris watched it without stopping- at how the creatures from the other world devoured her former reality piece by piece, leaving only a ravaged world drowned in the products of their own excrement. Mistress Dark's pale fingers trembled slowly, her lips almost turned white, and the photograph fell from her weakened hand. But Iris did not even budge- after all, the pictures that she watched instantly appeared before her eyes, as soon as she began to remember.

She dreamed about them every night.

It was too much, and Iris couldn't take it anymore. Ignoring the surprised exclamations of the robot servant, Ms. Dark rushed out of the room, jerking open the varnished wooden doors and entering the spacious hall, illuminated by bright lamps. Glancing wildly around the room, Iris dashed down the massive, richly ornamented dark wood staircase, her hands convulsively gripping the railing. She didn't want to remember. She would give her entire fortune to the Foundation for one dose of the most powerful amnestics. But it was a luxury she could not afford. That world was lost- and there was no one to judge her. So she will judge herself.

_Item - SCP-105. Object class - Keter._

_What she did was unforgivable- anyone who knew about it would gladly put a bullet between her eyes. She tried herself- tried many times to end her fucking life. She practically pulled the trigger, holding the barrel to her temple. She cut the skin on the wrists with a sharp blade, watching the blood gush from the veins- and it seemed to her that her blood was black, unclean, spoiled. She tried to hang herself, tried to poison herself with all conceivable and inconceivable poisons. And every fucking time the Anderson Robotics servants constantly brought her back to life- death through suicide was contrary to the rules of MC &D at least until you made your will._

Several corridors covered with exotic oriental carpets and skins of animals for every taste- including those long extinct and those who have never existed in our reality. Ms. Dark swept past glass windows containing priceless relics of ancient civilizations and peoples, as well as things much stranger and more incomprehensible, which did not belong to people, and not even to this world. Her legs carried her, and she herself did not even think about where she was running. Despair flooded her head, and instead of panels of expensive walnut, she saw only pulsating tentacles with many eyes, twisting around skyscrapers, only creatures consisting of members, mouths and vaginas, endlessly devouring and having intercourse with each other- and with everyone unlucky enough to escape.

_Description - SCP-105 is a traitor to the Foundation._

Dimly lit stairs down, a few turns. A small “seating area” consisting of a sofa, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table and a fountain surrounded by exotic plants. A massive bookcase, which cannot be moved without a secret key, would hide the secret passage to the elevator from any outsider.

_SCP-105 performed an act or series of acts that were unanimously deemed unforgivable._

The elevator doors open, releasing Ms. Dark into a straight, white-walled corridor lined with two orange stripes. Electric lamps on the ceiling illuminate the space with indifferent white light.

_Special Containment Procedures - SCP-105 is to be destroyed as soon as possible._

Iris Dark almost runs forward, turning the corner. In front of her is a gray, metal door with a white Foundation logo. The Great Mistress of MC&D looks at it with almost joy. Shaking pale fingers type a combination of numbers- **XK105A9** on the touchpad next to it- after which the heavy door slides to the side, revealing a small prison cell in front of Iris without any conveniences. Ms. Dark runs inside and hits the button with force, delighting to hear the sound of the door slamming shut. And only then does she finally throw off the mask that she has worn for many centuries in front of everyone- even in front of herself. Iris Dark knows that money is everything. Her well-oiled software manipulates stock exchanges and markets in such a way that she can earn several trillion dollars in just a few seconds. Iris Dark needn't worry - after all, you can buy anyone; and a solution to any problem can also be bought. And sometimes it seemed to her that she really believed in it.

There is no need to pretend here. So she huddles into a corner, huddled into a ball on a narrow, hard bed in a cramped prison cell with no windows, with only one cold white lamp throwing an indifferent light on a sobbing woman with snow-white hair and faded eyes, who, clasping her knees, sits and sways, as if in a trance, dreaming of staying here forever.

Iris Thompson mourns the world that died through her fault.

_Addendum - There will be no forgiveness._

**Author's Note:**

> translated from russian to english with the permission of Maxim98rus. thank you for permitting me to translate this fantastic work. None of this is mine.


End file.
